


set your summer dreams alight

by suganii (feints)



Series: in summer [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, HELP I HAVE NOW ADDED MORE WORDS, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Headcanons headcanons and more headcanons, Many Teams Mentioned, Rewrite of an older fic., Slight divergence - Kamomedai win the Spring Nationals 2013, Team Bonding, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feints/pseuds/suganii
Summary: In chapter 369, we are treated to a scene of Daichi and the others gathering around for dinner with smiling, content faces, just basking in one another's presence. In another room, a panel shunted off to the side, Hinata cries as he digs into his bowl of soup.A page later, we see Daichi and the other third years graduate. The years flash by in a cluster of panels, leaving us with Hinata on a bicycle, peddling up the streets of Brazil to deliver food. What happened in between those panels? What growth was there that we only saw in glimpses, of Karasuno?How about this story? A day after Karasuno's defeat, we turn the page to see Hinata blinking open fever-weary eyes, ready to greet the new morning. Spring is over, but summer's only just beginning, and their end is only a start of the things left to do.
Series: in summer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863232
Comments: 21
Kudos: 68





	set your summer dreams alight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nicini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicini/gifts).



> For Nicini and Kawa.
> 
> What if we got to see how Karasuno fared in their next year in more than passing snapshots from Yachi, in more than simple reminiscing from her diary?
> 
> What if we got to see more of those missing years?-
> 
> (Special thanks to Karin for giving a not-so-quick look through it haha <3).

In chapter 369, we are treated to a scene of Daichi and the others gathering around for dinner with smiling, content faces, just basking in one another's presence. In another room, a panel shunted off to the side, Hinata cries as he digs into his bowl of soup.

A page later, we see Daichi and the other third-years graduate. The years flash by in a cluster of panels, leaving us with Hinata on a bicycle, peddling up the streets of Brazil, a food delivery bag on his back. What happened in between those panels? What growth was there that we’d only seen in glimpses, of Karasuno?

How about this story? A day after Karasuno’s defeat, we turn the page to see Hinata blinking open fever-weary eyes, ready to greet the new morning. Spring may be over for them but summer’s only just beginning, and their end is only a start of all the things that are left to do.

Breakfast is a solemn affair. Maybe Hinata’s phone lights up with a series of texts; from Goshiki maybe, wondering how he’s faring, and if he’s taken his meds and plenty of water; from Hyakuzawa, who’s simply sent him a series of photos of his tabby cat; from Koganegawa, worry expressed with a string of objectively too many emojis. When Takeda tells them that they’re free until tomorrow before the bus they’ve rented comes to take them home, the boys come to a unanimous decision. By silent agreement, everyone decides to go watch the semi-finals. There are only four matches left after all.

In another time, in another life, it might’ve been Karasuno standing on center court. There’s no room to wonder about what might’ve been now. Fukurodani wins theirs on a 3-1 score, and the team that had stumbled into the spotlight after snatching a win from Itachiyama the day before exit the court to a round of sympathetic applause. Karasuno are already yesterday’s news, passed over in favour of a bigger upset. Maybe there’d been a strange air about the stadium for a while as Karasuno watched; how quickly the mood can shift, and for a tournament having undergone as many twists and turns as this one had, not a few of the crowd had been endeared toward the dark horses of the match, rattling Bokuto somewhat even as Fukurodani gave away no openings.

Not everyone stays to watch Kamomedai’s semi-finals match with Ichibayashi. Hinata stays though, and so do the rest of the first-years, settling beside and behind him in a bubble: Yachi with her notebook and pen, Tsukishima with an air of silent contemplation, Kageyama with a look of consternation and a few pointed comments toward Hinata, and Yamaguchi with a sense of unease.

These were the first-years who had breathed new life back into Karasuno. They are this team’s hope for the future, and they’re already looking forward, watching Kamomedai closely as they take down Ichibayashi.

Ennoshita stays as well. No one says it out loud, but everyone knows he’s going to be the next captain to succeed Daichi.

That isn’t why he stays. Once, in the middle of Fukurodani’s lush gym a summer ago as everyone got a first-hand taste of their weaknesses, Takeda had talked about opportunities. Even a rival can be someone you learn from, and Ennoshita makes himself sit and stay, as Kamomedai prove why their beating Karasuno is not a miracle.

Tanaka, meanwhile, corrals the rest into watching Niiyama’s game as their fellow Miyagi representatives continue to make a name for themselves in their tournament run. Maybe this is where the deep-seated kinship between Shimizu and Tanaka starts, turning them into lifelong fans of Kanoka and her rise to stardom – sitting there on hard red seats, and finding themselves invested as Kanoka smashes the winning hit deep in center court, securing Niiyama Girls’ ticket to finals. I’d like to think Shimizu found herself entranced by the sight. When, after the match, Tanaka comes up to Kanoka to wish her luck for tomorrow, she tags along, a sparkle in her eyes.

All the matches finish up by early afternoon, so with nothing much left to do, Hinata aside, the others decide to explore the rest of Tokyo on Nekoma’s invitation.

They wander around town, and maybe they visit Shinjuku where they find themselves swallowed up in buildings, gardens, people, and huge billboard advertisements. Or maybe they tour the areas around Shibuya since that’s where the Tokyo Metropolitan Gym is located, coalescing into the throng of the crowd first at Shibuya Crossing, and then strolling through Harajuku marvelling at the bright colours, at clothing of every shape paraded and celebrated. Maybe they take the Tokyo Metro down to Nerima Ward to peer at the Nekoma school facilities, tucked into the edges of a quieter neighourhood, before enjoying a walk at the Oizumi Central Park nearby, and dropping by a combini for snacks.

Then, after dinner at their motel, Kuroo and Kenma take Hinata and a few others to the actual Skytree. Watching how Tokyo lights up at night from above the many-splendoured city, the sight is so dazzling it makes Hinata’s breath catch. From up here, finally away from the bustle, the people seem so… tiny, and insignificant. Up here, they’re not Karasuno, quarter finalists at their first Spring Nationals in five years. They’re not boys who’d been winning up until they lost. They’re just teenagers, enjoying a big city for the first time.

Below them, the city glimmers like so many stars. Untouchable.

They return to the motel to rest, and the next day, Fukurodani loses to Kamomedai in the finals. Niiyama, on the other hand, takes home the crown.

Tanaka stands as Kanoka walks with her teammates off the court. He’d screamed himself hoarse as the game had gone on to the final few points, fingernails leaving red welts on his palm as he’d watched.

The sight of Kanoka’s fierceness on court had imprinted itself onto his eyelids. Perhaps coming up to his childhood friend to congratulate her, albeit shyly, just ignites in him a similar fire. Years and years ago, a boy had once tugged a girl along, promising her that he’d show her something cool. And she did. She had pursued that something, that same fire she’d kept tucked away in her chest to the very top, and now happily crowned victors with her teammates, she looks back at the boy who started it all. _Do you see me?_ She wants to say. _I hope I showed you something cool._

(Behind him, Shimizu watches the exchange with curious eyes. This isn’t a side of Tanaka she often sees, and it gives her pause.)

A game later, on the other end of the court, Fukurodani mourn over the bitter loss.

It had been an excruciatingly close match. In the end, Konoha had failed to follow up against Kamomedai’s block, and the ball had bounced onto the floor before anyone else could try to reach it in time. Bokuto, though, accepts their defeat with grace. There are no tears, not for this newly-minted ordinary ace, Fukurodani’s captain at the last. With the hopes of his teammates behind him, he’ll march on to a brighter future, filled with laughter, loving and volleyball.

For the first time in three years, a Top Eight qualifier has taken the crown. Kamomedai don’t get shafted off to the side here with not even a footnote. Hoshiumi accepts his awards with a grin, but it eventually falls away. This tournament both has and hasn’t been at all what he’d expected. Could it be that he has more to learn yet?

He is not the only one thinking so. What will you become tomorrow? What is there for you when you’ve plucked yourself up and off the ground, and have to get back up?

Karasuno pile onto the bus in the early afternoon, dappled rays of sun filtering through the buildings as they bid their last farewells to Jaybird Inn. Bokuto and the others had already said their goodbyes at the gym; as the bus leaves the capital behind for good and the looming wall of skyscrapers shimmers away into the distance, Hinata leans an elbow against the window, a cough still rattling in his throat, and vows that the next time they come back, they’ll win it all.

The days pass. They return to school. Lessons are spent listlessly staring at windows, or with heads pressed on desks. Daichi and the other third-years stay for a couple more sessions, but everyone knows their days are numbered. Finally on the last day of the week, Ukai arranges for them all a practice match, pitting six against six for the last time. Watching the boys get serious against each other, wanting to make their seniors’ last match a memorable one, arouses feelings of nostalgia for him as well. He’d once stood here, on these very wooden floors, throat tight as his grandfather thanked his yearmates for sticking with him to the end.

How surreal to be the one standing there now, saying the words that had once shattered his heart to hear. Really, what would he have thought at the end of this first chapter trudging on, I wonder? He’s older now, and wiser. He knows that the boys have achieved many more things this year than he could’ve dreamed.

He hopes the old man will be proud that he’s managed to fulfil his grandfather’s promise with Nekomata, hopes the old man saw that the boys were having fun out there too. He’s going to miss these kids, he thinks. He’s going to miss Shimizu’s carefully organized notes, the helpful footnotes scribbled into the margins. He’s going to miss Daichi’s groundedness and charisma, Sugawara’s tenacity and unwavering passion, Asahi’s beautiful form and quiet presence. He’d embraced his role as the ace all the way to the end, and although Ukai’s only known them for a few months, he realises it doesn’t make it any easier to say goodbye.

And in the end, what can he say? And what can he do other than stay? He’s certainly not going to quit on the team now, and the thought makes him chuckle, makes him sigh. He’s ended up following his grandfather’s footsteps after all.

What would Takeda have thought? He’d been there from the start, observing year after year as advisors for the volleyball club came and went. He was just a literature teacher, really, what did _he_ know about volleyball? But when he had been asked if he would take up the position, Takeda knew that he was going to try. He’d wanted to make the club worthwhile for them – if he had to sacrifice some of his pride to do it, then so be it. He hadn’t been a teacher all these years not to understand what the carefully averted eyes when he’d been introduced meant. They had been afraid to trust him, not used to someone who would believe in them. Takeda thought, if nothing else, that _that_ was a good place to start.

And look how far they’ve come. He may have created opportunities, bridged open the doors for these kids but they took the challenges to heart and rose to it, persevered. Takeda’s sad to say goodbye. He also suspects this might be the beginning of a golden age for Karasuno.

The match lingers on into late afternoon until finally the seniors take the win for their last match, even against the likes of Kageyama and Hinata, and the foundation of what will become Karasuno’s new team. Ukai clicks his tongue. Receives, he decides, will be something he’ll have to prepare a lot of drills for in the coming months.

(That, and… Ukai grins, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.)

And maybe it’s not something he asks, but the seniors do of their own volition. When the equipment has been cleared away, and the team gathers for a short ceremony, the third-years step forward. Shimizu speaks first, with a few short words about chances, what being a manager had meant to her, and encouragement for Yachi. Asahi, going next, gives a speech about faith and courage, with advice for Tanaka on being the next ace. Then Sugawara comes forward, emphasising connections, reminding his kouhai what it means to be a team and the importance of good communication.

The circle ends with Daichi, looking wistfully at the gym around them.

“For three years, we worked here in this gym. We poured our sweat, aching muscles and tears, working toward the dream of making Nationals again one day. Thank you, everyone, for sharing that dream with us. Thank you for not giving up, even when your legs wanted to give out, when your hands were too heavy to lift up, when your eyes were blurred with sweat. Thank you for sticking with us to the end and making our dream a reality. I know that you can do even better next year. Don't stop practicing, and don't give up! Make it your goal to get back there and win it all next time, for us!”

The seniors bow to a round of applause. Daichi passes the captaincy on to Ennoshita then, who with Tanaka as his vice, becomes the new head of the volleyball club. The dream is passed on. The doors close with a turn in the keyhole as the third-years leave the gym behind them for good and disappear into the masses of students preparing for college.

It’s _their_ year no longer.

Time ticks on.

Maybe there’s a little friction at first while adjusting to the change, as adjusting to all change does. The new team does not work well, not at first, even with five of their seven regulars remaining.

(Who’s to blame, really, for their initial loss against Kamomedai? Who are the true weak links in Karasuno? Kageyama tells the truth the rest of them will not say: not the third-years, who put on near flawless performances. Not the second-years, who had done admirably under the circumstances.

It was _them_. The first-years – Hinata who had taken ill with a fever, Tsukishima whose stamina issues had reared their ugly head. Yamaguchi, who had perhaps not been equipped to sub in on such a high-stakes game as a reliever with little time on the court. And he, Kageyama, who must’ve made a mistake somewhere, made a miscalculation.

They hadn’t been good enough. They would be without their reliable captain and cornerstone now. They would be without their powerhouse of an ace now. They would be without a dependable relief setter in the wings now. So, what can they do? What _can_ they do, but pick up the slack and improve?

Ennoshita, listening to Kageyama speak his piece, sighs. _I know it may seem that way, but if you really want to take responsibility, then so should the rest of us. We lost as a team. We’ve got to move on._

It won’t be the last time Kageyama makes his opinions known _._ )

Still. This new team that they’ll build together, with laughter and sweat and raw nerve, they want it to be one they’re all proud of: a team that will be just as good, if not better, than the one they had. They’re going to take the Nationals by storm this time, this year, and it’s a desire that buoys them ever further.

Slowly, the snow starts to melt. _Nanohana_ , the harbingers of spring, grow out of the sidewalks, out of potholes, tilting their faces towards the sun. Before they know it, the third-years have graduated. As Ennoshita leads the others in a bow toward the departing third-years, some three hundred miles away, the remaining members of Nekoma do the same with Kuroo, Yaku and Kai; at the gates of Fukurodani Academy, Akaashi, the captain now, gives a parting speech of thanks to Bokuto, Konoha and the others.

Maybe Oikawa does one last cheeky wave, Matsukawa and Hanamaki each leaning on a shoulder as they wave their graduation scrolls, all their second buttons taken, each in a junior’s hands. Maybe Ushijima lifts one last hand in farewell, his belongings neatly packed for his move to Shibuya to start his tenure on the National team, as Goshiki tries and fails to stem his tears, and beside him Shirabu stands still as stone, eyes suspiciously moist.

Their underclassmen watch them go, and as cherry blossoms begin to bloom in Miyagi, before they know it, the new first-years are due to arrive.

The grass is still damp with morning dew, softly crunching underfoot as Hinata races across the field, barely beating Kageyama by a second in one of their first races of the week. When they push open the doors of their gymnasium, it’s to the sight of their captain and a few others, turning to face them in a grin as their jaws drop open in surprise.

What must it be like, joining a team that’s seemingly risen right from the ground, from relative anonymity to buzzing fame? Three first-years, peering eagerly into Karasuno’s Gym Two, find not even a hint of any fancy equipment in sight, just a gym neatly kept, and modestly furnished.

There is nothing to be wowed over here, but when the new first-years toe their way into the gym with excited, careful steps, the stars from their eyes not having fallen quite yet, all it takes is one toss. A boy with bright ginger hair zips from the back line to the right side of the court in a blink, arm extended to spike already as he jumps. That is when the ball makes contact, and with a firm slap of his wrists, it’s sent flying near the side line, bouncing once, twice.

 _This_ is the miracle here: a year’s worth of grit and daring, a dash of stupidity, a heady pinch of godly skill. This is what the team is built around. This is Karasuno, small in number even now, but good. Still good.

Only three new additions, but that’s to be expected. Karasuno’s claim to greatness could still be dismissed as a fluke, with a volleyball program that is still far from established. Anyway, who’s to say middle schoolers really care about high school accomplishments, and who’s to say that, of those who do, people would want to take a chance on Karasuno, and not on the powerhouses already in the area, where their futures would be more or less secured?

Nevertheless these first-years, named Tokita, Shoji, and Yaotome, might have more potential than you would believe. Time moves, because time waits for no one and slowly, the members of the team begin to find their rhythm.

Ennoshita is a different leader than Daichi was. He does not raise his voice half so often – Tanaka’s the true talker out of the two of them, but he watches over his players with an analytical gaze, playing out simulations in his head as he does. Where do they fit? What can they do? How can he bring out their best potential, especially when he himself is not fully acquainted to playing with them yet?

There will be days when he frets, days when he’ll feel a shadow behind him, black as pitch, reaching out with strong fingers, threatening to engulf him. He is no shield, no sword, a fact he very well knows. It was why he’d nominated Tanaka for vice-captain. Tanaka will shine where he cannot, their fiercest bird in flight. But even birds need a place to nest, and he thinks, he _hopes_ he can be that for his team.

He’s not the only one with concerns. The other third-years are beginning to think of their own futures, as they should.

After this year, they will never play for Karasuno again. States, prefectures, even whole countries and continents may separate them. Especially for Nishinoya, who over the course of the year will begin to set his sights on a world increasingly vast, the year stretching beyond seems both infinitely long and intimately close. What will await them then, here and after?

It’s a sentiment echoed by Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Hinata and Kageyama to differing extents. The previous year had given them a taste of the heights they could climb, and this time they’re aiming for the National title.

Anyway, what use is a dream if it’s something just anyone can reach?

So what does Yamaguchi want?

Shortly after the Spring Nationals, he had approached Ukai for advice. This was a boy who had looked at his own shortcomings and determined to himself he would not fall behind, about a year ago now. He had approached an alumnus of Karasuno without any previous acquaintance because he believed he could make something of himself. Ukai looks into Yamaguchi’s resolute eyes, and it’s only a confirmation of something he’d impressed upon the coach since Ukai had learnt from Shimada what initiative Yamaguchi had taken to learn from him. Ukai, he wants to _mould_ this boy.

What will he become? Ukai has no answers yet, but for now he grants Yamaguchi’s wish. To become a regular on court, he needs a position he can excel in. Ukai hasn’t thought of Yamaguchi as a middle blocker for a while now, anyway. No, this boy belongs in the wings; to Ukai’s mind, an opposite, specifically, like Inuoka from Nekoma had become.

What does Tsukishima want?

He’s got the foundations of his blocking down, and all the rest he can only leave up to experience. But the match with Kamomedai had brought his shortcomings to the forefront in a way he can’t, no longer wants to ignore. He had not been lazy before – he has always done his best to achieve at least a passing grade, but he _despises_ the thought of being seen as a weak link. He’s not about to be berated by Kageyama again, or the gods forbid, surpassed by Hinata again. Ukai puts him on stamina rolls to strengthen his endurance, but he’s also thinking of working on a serve next when he’s built up his strength. It’s the next logical step, and all the best middle blockers he had seen in the tournament had had scary serves.

A truth he will admit, if only to himself for now: he wants to keep winning with this team. There’s no feeling that comes close to seeing the outcome of these hard hours of effort, stress and perseverance, and Tsukishima’s aiming for a perfect score this time.

What does Hinata want?

For this boy, sunlight itself distilled and contained in human skin, Karasuno’s run at Nationals had imparted some very harsh truths. He doesn’t want to disappoint himself like that ever again. He doesn’t want to leave the court if he can prevent himself from doing so. He wants – the laboured breaths, the shakiness in his knees, the anxiety, the exhilaration – he wants all of it. He wants to be on the court amidst it all, with all the heart-pounding excitement and gut-dropping thrill that it brings. So, he listens carefully to what Ukai tells him despite the way it makes his heart stop.

This is a boy who’ll be a middle blocker for the rest of his high school career… but that’s alright. As he is, this is how he can be of the greatest value to Karasuno, and he is still the Greatest Decoy even now. Here is what he can do: refining the other parts of his game, strengthening his basics, giving attention to the parts he still lacks, like his blocking. Hoshiumi Kourai had promised him he would wait. Well, Hinata can’t wait to show him what he’s made of. There are answers he’s still seeking, and he wants to learn to do everything too.

And what does Kageyama want?

As setter, it’s his duty to bring the best out of his hitters, weaving their plays together like a conductor leading an orchestra. He’s never really been challenged by anyone except Hinata, but with the new year comes change blowing in from new quarters – Tokita, their new junior setter, friendly like Sugawara had been, with a charming smile and a willingness to learn from him, as well as a not-so-hidden desire to steal his starting spot. Having someone look up to Kageyama with a sort of earnest passion could very well provide that next step in Kageyama’s progression that constitutes a hunger for leadership, and a desire to unite his team on court through more than just his plays. Little by little, he learns to teach. Everyone is challenged to rise to his level, even as the team does their best to plug in the gaps that Daichi and Asahi and Suga have left. Ukai assigns him with the first-years from time to time, and each time he measures – what their preferred height of the ball might be, how far they can reach, how fast they can run. How well he can use them, without letting himself fall behind. (As if he ever could.)

But this is a story about the whole of Karasuno, and so _all_ of Karasuno will have some growing to do.

While off to the side, Kinoshita and Narita look on a little wistfully, Ukai waves them over, because he has plans for them too. He sends the three third-years who were not already starters, along with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, to his old grandfather for extra instruction, now that Ukai Ikkei has recovered and started his small school up again. The three benchwarmers have grown now; when Ukai Senior barks orders at them, none of them hesitate. None of them hunch their shoulders. And none of them leave.

They’re not going to be playing volleyball for the rest of their lives. Not everything has to have a grand purpose, but let’s make their time on the team matter. Let’s make them a sight that engenders respect, the line of their backs inspiring, grounding, foundational, the way Suga’s, Asahi’s and Daichi’s were.

Who looks up to Narita? He’s not exceptional, not spectacular like Hinata and Tsukishima are. But the things he does, he does without fanfare, and he’s able to replicate them on court as effortlessly as he had practiced. So let that matter. Let the little things he does accumulate – maybe the increasing height of his jumps, maybe the good sense he has of the game. He’s never going to be on the front line, but he keeps himself prepared, dependable, steady. When he goes out, he wants each experience to be a satisfying one.

Who looks up to Kinoshita? What a timid, brave soul. Maybe he, like Nishinoya, had a spark of wanderlust itching away in his mind. An urge to take to the open road, see where it might take him… or maybe not. Still, there’s a certain type of jubilation, knowing that you’ve made a difference. That you’ve done something to help your team. Where Narita is tall, and Ennoshita is wily, Kinoshita is fast. _Use_ that. Let there be games that he can win. Let’s see the crowds that cheer for Karasuno holler in approval, when he finally scores a bunch of service aces.

They aren’t the only ones. Ennoshita keeps at it with the first-years, practicing receives with them deep into the twinkling night even against the likes of Narita’s and Kinoshita’s and Yamaguchi’s serves. He only lets them go when they’re satisfied. Bruises too begin to litter Tanaka’s arms as he begins to get digs up solidly in the air with greater frequency, to Nishinoya’s proud approval.

(Asahi might never don the Karasuno jersey again, never again the number three that now imprints itself loudly on Tanaka’s back. Maybe the first time Tanaka wears the jersey on court, Nishinoya can’t help but stare at the single digit printed in white, tracing it with his eyes, and realise: it’s not Asahi-and-Nishinoya anymore. It’s _Tanaka-and-Noya_ , fellow friends, goofballs, _brothers_ who haplessly share a brain cell eighty percent of the time and who are now expected to translate that bond onto court.)

Do the first-years come up to Kageyama sometimes after practice? Asking him to toss for them is a pressure laden with expectation, but they ask anyway. There’s a grump, Shoji among the first-years – perhaps he’s particular with the way he hits. He’s good, but Kageyama is better. The first time Kageyama’s perfect toss hits his palm, he finds himself falling in love. So give me this first-year shamelessly monopolising Kageyama’s time, working to get himself on a level on par with the exacting standards Kageyama sets.

There’s a libero Yaotome among those first-years, a tuft of dye on his head and a scoundrel’s smirk painting his lips. Maybe he comes up to Nishinoya happily, letting Noya ruffle his hair as he chirps at his senpai affectionately, willing to trade secrets. Maybe he’d been a junior from Nishinoya’s middle school, Chidoriyama. He has his strengths, the way Nishinoya does his. He’s taller, bigger, sturdier than Nishinoya is. Does Nishinoya teach him _rolling thunder_? Does he learn to set too?

Maybe the setter among the first-years, Tokita, wants to toss for Hinata. He wants to get up to his senpai’s level as soon as he can, because he hasn’t come to Karasuno simply to play. Maybe he has family who are invested in the sport – a younger sister perhaps, whose games he goes to when he has the time. She will always know when he’s there because he’s always cheering the loudest.

The three first-years look up to their senpai – all of them – not because of what they lack, but because of what they are. And this, here, is the backbone of Karasuno, their indomitable will. It’s a path they continue to tread together, and it’s no wonder then, is it, that they light a fire in every team they face.

When you look upon faces so naked with hunger, it makes you hungry too.

Still, it’s not a swift process, nor is it painless. Once upon a previous tournament, when the odds should’ve been in Karasuno’s favour, an unexpected accident in the form of Daichi’s injury had very nearly lost them the match.

Wakunan is not Date Tech. Ennoshita tries, but he has not learned with his body to cover ground the way Daichi can. Tanaka tries, but he cannot muscle his way through the block like Asahi can, and his last few cross-court shots land a touch out of bounds. The team tries, and they lose to Date Tech in the Interhigh Qualifiers by a single set that takes the wind out of their sails.

It is not a loss they bear alone. Watching in the stands, Daichi’s hands clench into fists, gripping hard denim around his knees as he looks over at his old team below. Suga whistles lowly, Asahi sighs, and Shimizu hums, lips pressed tightly together enough to go numb.

It hurts to see Ennoshita herd his players in a line toward their supporters, bowing his head in an apology that the Karasuno he led couldn’t live up to expectations.

Still, Karasuno’s summer won’t pass with mere apologies. This is a path they’d trodden before, hadn’t they? Every time when it felt like they were on the ropes, about to cross what seemed a huge, insurmountable gulf, Shimizu remembers her clipboard clutched tightly to her chest, Karasuno’s scores noted down in black ink, Daichi remembers the redness on his arms from a particularly strong serve, Sugawara remembers sprinting to the end line to catch a ball tooled off of the block, Asahi remembers the strain in his vocal cords as he called out for the ball.

Again. Again. Call out for the ball _again_.

It would be a long, hard road, but it would be okay. Karasuno would make it to Nationals, step into that packed gymnasium, noise washing over them, their steps paved with light, onto linoleum floor again. All they have to do is as they have always done, over and over until they succeed. And when the sun disappears behind the housetops and long shadows of night steal through the windows into their gymnasium, you’ll find them still huddled, gathering around Ukai as he talks them through another formation they’ll try next, or reviewing over what they had achieved for the day, and it will be a familiar sight. Karasuno know better than to give up, not when they have their sights set on such lofty goals.

They’re not the only ones.

This was never a story just about Karasuno, never simply about a particular team, but a collective of them.

Let’s tell this story: that Date Tech won was no fluke, not this team that have been practicing with their current squad for the better part of a year now. They might have had to give up their hope of making the Spring Nationals the year before when their primary setter was still so green, but they’re ready now. Tsukishima hasn’t been the only one looking at the Kamomedai tapes. Date Tech have a tried and true method of success that has always defined their school, but now they’d observed someone else doing it, and doing it better. And you cannot truly improve if you do not open yourself up to all the avenues you have.

They’ve run forward, this group of youthful souls, waiting for the sun to rise on their school again. Light is streaming through the slants in the walls now, bathing the greenery around the gym with warmth even as from the stands, Moniwa and Kamasaki and Sasaya, their old senpai, cheer until their voices grow hoarse, and then some more.

Maybe Coach Oiwake pitches forward, hugging Aone and Futakuchi tight. Maybe some of the new first-years break into tears of their own, seeing rivulets of water track down Aone’s quiet face. For this gentle giant, to whom words do not come easily, his actions must speak louder than a thousand words. As Futakuchi embraces him in a wave of ecstatic celebration, Aone’s arms wounding tightly against his smaller frame, maybe Aone’s relieved. Maybe there are too many emotions for him to name, a bundle of joy and disbelief and expectation rolled into one.

There’s so little we know of them, really. When is the moment Aone decides not to go pro? Is it in the here and now, engulfed by the roaring crowds, and realising he might not have what it takes to stand up to that adoration? Where does it start? Does Aone come from a close-knit family, perhaps? Does he have a younger sibling whom he spills all his feelings to when it’s just the two of them in a room together and he feels safe? Does he have an older sibling that he looks up to in awe, in whose footsteps he wants to follow?

There’s so much story beyond these pages, stories that we will never truly know.

What do we know of Koganegawa? For him, this might have been the chance he’s been waiting for. He’s no longer the greenhorn he used to be, but his respect for his seniors hasn’t waned in the least. His senpai are just so amazing, it’s all he can do to support them with his own two hands.

And maybe he’d wanted to take them to that ever-elusive stadium for the longest while. Maybe he’d wanted to be able to inhale the familiar air of salon-pas, to hear his volleyball shoes squeak on hallowed ground. He’d never been particularly religious but even then, maybe he’d wanted to squint up at the glaring overhead lights where he thought gods might dwell, and trace a ceiling with his eyes that seemed to go on and on, up and up, indefinitely. Maybe he’d wanted to bring his senpai there even with still-weak, still-roughened fingers, and now, now he’s done it. He hugs all his senpai once, then once more before hoisting Sakunami up on his shoulders and doing a victory lap, just because he can.

It’s only when Futakuchi barks at him to put their libero down that he does. Even then, the captain can’t quite contain the way his lips stretch from corner to corner, the way he just wants to scream. What a heavy burden he’s been carrying, now for the better part of a year. A captaincy is not easy to saddle; being ace only doubles the weight on his shoulders. But not so long ago, the strongest team in the prefecture had been led by someone of that calibre, leading his team to dominate at Nationals.

Futakuchi is no Ushijima, certainly, but he doesn’t need to be. He doesn’t expect his team to just follow him at his back; that isn’t the style he’s used to. Here is his team, the Date Tech he’s built, walking side by side with him, teasing him over his fumbles, holding him accountable for his mistakes. He’s found his rhythm as an ace on his own terms, indisputably, with a serve that comes roaring down, with a well-placed block, with a dig on what should’ve been a scored ball. He looks down on his opponents with a cocksure grin, riling them up with a few careful words, and beckons his teammates onward, onward, onward. He’s captain, indisputably, and he’s going to take them higher still.

No one really says it, but going to Nationals changes you. There’s a certain breed of desperation in trying to come out on top, and only by measuring yourself up against the best can you truly come to terms with your own shortcomings. Not everyone gets there, though.

There are a million possibilities here, a million realities branching out from each choice chosen or rejected. In one of these realities, following the disaster of a showing at the Interhigh where Shiratorizawa are eliminated at the second round by Date Tech, Shirabu decides to give up his captaincy. Volleyball has long lost its shine for him, and while he’s not content to let his run end here, he’d rather sever his ties now before he grows to hate a sport he used to love.

In another reality however, he chooses to open himself up, chooses to keep his mind open, and devotes his time to learning something new. Maybe it’s learning a new serve. Maybe it’s strengthening his receives. Maybe it’s learning to spike with a backup setter subbed in.

He’s not able to use it in an actual game, but that isn’t the point here. The point is volleyball is a choice, and life is not only volleyball.

This is, after all, a story about opportunities, and it is a story about choices. Perhaps there are no right ones, and what matters only is what you can make of yourself.

Here’s another thought: do you ever think about how Ushijima’s generation left behind such a heavy shadow to crawl out of? Murmurs of _if only last year,_ and _they’re not looking good, what a pity_ can deal so much damage.

Still, some rise to the occasion admirably. Atsumu walks ahead with a playful smile and heavy-lidded eyes, daring the world to watch him burn; Hirugami plows onward, keeping his gaze fixed on an unruly roost of white hair and kohl-lined eyes. Others do not.

Yahaba can relate to how it feels to lead in the wake of his club’s shining star, knowing that he might never be able to achieve that same level of greatness. They share the same position after all. As much as he wants to prove that choosing him to lead the Seijoh squad isn’t a mistake, the idea that it _might_ be tears something ugly at his insides.

Perhaps if he just keeps pushing himself a little harder.

Perhaps if he was more like _Oikawa_.

But he isn’t. He’s only Yahaba, with his hands that bear callouses from all the time he’s spent handling the ball, spinning it around and around in his hands, volleyball tape around his fingertips because he hates being the reason that his team might lose.

He’ll have to square with himself eventually, what he can and can’t be. Perhaps that is the courageous thing, and perhaps not. Still, he’s the captain now. He can’t afford to be bogged down with all this self-doubt. It’s not what Oikawa would’ve wanted, and he deserves better, if only for himself.

Even if it’s painful, even if it _aches_ , by the gods, lift yourself up, captain. You might never be Oikawa, but so what? There your teammates are, waiting for you at the edge of the court with their toes scuffing the end line. There your opponent is, ready to shake your hand. Come on, captain, it’s time.

We have faith in you. Trust us, have courage and _jump_.

At the same time, in a different arena five hours away by train, Akaashi leads his team off the court without a word. They had lost in the semi-finals, _just_ missing out on their ticket to Nationals.

Akaashi, the last to leave the changing room, sinks to the floor, folds himself into a corner just out of sight and weeps bitter tears. His phone buzzes with messages from Komi, from Suzumeda, from Washio, from Sarukui. The messages from Bokuto he’s left on read. In a few minutes, his phone might light up with a call from Konoha, but for those few minutes, he’s been left to his musings. He knows the team he’s assembled might be nowhere near the same strength as that of last year’s, he knows that there are still the Regional Kanto Tournament and then the Spring Nationals to come, and he will get a chance then to redeem this mistake, he knows his team needs him, but all the same, he doesn’t want to leave the darkness of this room. He needs to remember the weight of this loss if he doesn’t ever want to experience it again.

When Fukurodani had lost to Kamomedai in their previous tournament, settling onto the bus seats one by one in stunned silence, the third-years hadn’t been able to stem their tears. Only when the bus had taken off did Bokuto break down, but it had been silent tears, heavy tears of grief that Akaashi had no answer to, could only sit beside him in commiseration as he listened to the sound of his own heart breaking. Then, at their dorms, no one had been able to touch the food that had been made for their victory, not at dinner, and not at breakfast either. Water had trailed down their cheeks in waves when they had so much as looked at someone, and it had been almost too much for Akaashi to bear. They had been so close… the Nationals trophy had been within their grasp. Those obligations, their old disappointments and frustrations were Akaashi’s now.

How can he bear to face them, when he’d wanted so badly to make it up to them?

(“Akaashi, you big doof. This isn’t our team anymore. It’s _yours_. Don’t beat yourself up over last year, alright? We had our chance and we made the best of it. None of us have any regrets over what happened. It’s time for you to move on, and do the same. You’ve _got_ this, captain _._ ”

“…Senpai, how do you always know the right words to say?”

“It’s one of my many charms. Now please answer Bokuto’s LINE messages before he buys like a dozen train tickets from Osaka and we’ll have to stage a rescue mission for him when he realises he doesn’t know how to read a map and ends up lost.”

“…Yes, senpai.”)

When Akaashi comes out of the changing room at last, he finds Bokuto there anyway, along with the rest of his old senpai, including a cheekily-grinning Konoha.

“Senpai, wha-?”

“We were in the neighbourhood and just thought we’d swing by, treat our old kouhai to some ice cream. C’mon, Akaashi, nothing to say to us?”

If Akaashi can’t quite stem another outburst, nobody says a word. But there’s an extra topping of sprinkles on his ice cream, vanilla-flavoured because it’s his favourite, and he feels comforted all the same.

Maybe Fukurodani doesn’t make it to the Interhigh for the first time in four years in yet another stunning upset, but that is just the nature of these competitions. In a prefecture like Tokyo’s, where close to two hundred teams compete for the coveted spots in prefectural, regional and national tournaments, no one’s place is truly guaranteed.

Maybe Fukurodani doesn’t make it, but Nekoma does. They have been sharpening their claws, in more ways than one. Maybe the new year had only brought them a good crop of first-year middles, one or two of whom already had had a taste of Nationals in their junior high days. Maybe Lev and Inuoka take them under wing, no longer inexperienced first-years; between Lev and Shibayama in particular too, a good system is established, and maybe Lev eagerly imparts this knowledge to his kouhai, after he’s put them through a little of the same hell he went through in his first year. Maybe Yamamoto, their new captain, manages a rather impressive growth spurt, lending more potency to his already powerful serves and spikes. When he pushes the team forward in endurance drills, by degrees, even Kenma begins to keep up.

That isn’t all. On Yamamoto’s insistence, Kenma stays up now with him to go over game data with Teshiro, their second-year relief setter with an affinity for bookkeeping duties – tallying each player’s stats, both Nekoma’s and their opponents, hits and misses and errors. Kuroo had told him about how he and Kai used to go over Teshiro’s findings, and now Yamamoto drags his vice-captain to his side when he sees him walk in. _Would you go through these notes with us too?_ He’d asked for the first time on a misty January morning, and every other day since.

Yamamoto isn’t Kuroo. He pushes, and he pushes everyone – hardest of all, himself. Maybe he and Kenma squabbled in the beginning as often as they didn’t because of it, Yamamoto resolving to make sure Kenma tagged along with him to the weight room, of which Kenma hated every minute. He notices when Kenma begins to stay, each time a few minutes longer than the last, especially when Fukunaga begins to train in the weight room with them. While at first Kenma would sit by the wall, whipping out his PSP to smash through another level or two of his latest game, in time, his latent competitiveness and Yamamoto’s egging does the rest. He might never be a gym buff like Yamamoto, but by the end of their last year together, he’ll be keeping pace with the rest of the team, reluctantly echoing each count of Yamamoto’s drills with the rest.

As unlikely as it seems, the two of them make a good pair to lead the team. Together, they take the Tokyo Interhigh Qualifiers by storm, and why would they not? With the back of Yamamoto’s number one jersey to inspire them, his brash, stubborn will; with Kenma’s cunning, and a newly-awakened desire to play volleyball for its own sake, Nekoma performs as it always does – with finesse, teamwork and a hella lot enthusiasm, especially from Lev and Inuoka, finally playing side by side as they work together to bring their opponents down. There are no hard feelings between them. The year before, Nekomata had taken a gander and it paid off; a strengthened wall as their captain and ace puts the ball in play would be nothing short of terrifying.

Nekoma have never needed star players anyway, or star plays. Ordinary plays from ordinary players can be enough. You, by yourself, as you are, _you_ are enough, because you don’t win a game alone.

Slowly, but surely, they close the gap. For them, the new year can only bring signs of promise to bloom, and they snatch the second ticket to the Interhigh without much ado.

(Kenma sends a simple text after the game is over, and they’re on the bus ride back to Nekoma. _We won, Shouyou._

Hinata’s reply comes only minutes later. _Congratulations! You’re amazing, Kenma. I hope Nekoma does well at the Interhigh!_

It’s only two days later that he finally admits that Karasuno have lost.)

Across the net on a gym somewhere in Sendai, Hinata looks, out of longing, out of grief, out of greed and a little jealousy, as Koganegawa celebrates with his team, crying and cheering. He doesn’t stay on his elbows and knees this time, forehead bowed in agony. Hinata stands with the rest, keeping the palm that he’d used to shake against Date Tech’s Aone loose against his side, and it doesn’t tremble. This time, he places a firm hand on a first-year’s shoulder as they leave, a silent transfer of strength.

He doesn’t say anything to Koganegawa then. But that night, imagining a choir of angels slugging volleyballs around and around in his head, he sincerely sends an email of congratulations, to which Koganegawa replies with a simple thanks, and a remark that Kindaichi, Kunimi and Hyakuzawa had already sent their regards.

(Not Goshiki though. It’s only eventually that they find out he’s been made the new captain of Shiratorizawa.)

Hinata doesn’t reply with the words he wants to say, not for a few minutes. When it comes out, the words are softer than he’d intended, but no less sincere.

_Enjoy Nationals. Come back a stronger team. We’ll still beat you next time._

There are bonds being formed here too, and they’re not any less true than the ones Hinata forms with the people he faces every day. He’s not going to be seeing these boys often, but he doesn’t need to. In between remarks of _I beat Kageyama again today, that’s 121-121… a tie!_ , there are also messages of _Have you tried that new boba tea shop yet? They actually put just enough boba in,_ and _Have you watched that new movie? — Me and Kunimi went to see it last week and it was alright_.

For now, he pockets his phone. He knows better than to stay up late, not even for something like this. He’ll still have to get stronger, and to do that, he’ll need all the sleep he can get. This, too, is still volleyball.

(Maybe one day in the future, on their last summer together, they’ll go on a roadtrip in Hyakuzawa’s Toyota Prius, just around Miyagi, and maybe he’ll take Hinata and Koganegawa to see Okama, that crater lake sitting between three peaks. _Why are we sight-seeing like tourists?_ Tsukishima will complain, and Kindaichi will perk up, asking if that means they can finally try out some good food.

Maybe one winter, they’ll get together and try out their first izakaya, sampling their first sips of beer while Kunimi, who was born almost a year entirely too late, drinks his green tea and sulks. Helping themselves to heaps of karaage, tamagoyaki, tofu and sashimi, they’ll feel warmer than the chill that even now seeps into the restaurant. They’ll try not to get entirely too drunk.

That comes later.

For now, on a day when the last of the cherry blossom petals falls to the ground, Kunimi catches Kindaichi on the phone – hiding from him perhaps – his words hushed, but still distinct enough for him to make out. “So, is volleyball fun?” Kindaichi is saying. A sigh, a nod, and a low, “That’s good then. I’m glad. Yeah, see you around.”

There’s only one person Kindaichi could’ve possibly not wanted him to know he was talking to. Kunimi waits for him around the corner, blowing his bangs out of his face as he does.

It was about time, he supposes. Maybe now, they can close old wounds for good. Life goes on.)

Even though they had earned a spot at the Summer Interhigh, Date Tech’s road is far from easy, their placement not completely guaranteed. As with all public schools, funds are something they’ll have to acquire, and the time between the Qualifiers and the National tournament is only a window of two months. Perhaps it took a bit of finagling – a small window of hope that Karasuno might make it after all, but after their volleyball club manager Mai’s effortsand a few fund-raising campaigns, including one memorable occasion of Futakuchi, Obara and one of their new first-years manning a kissing booth, they manage to raise just enough capital. What awaits Date Tech at the Summer Interhigh?

Maybe this year, it takes place in Oita, on stained wooden floorboards and generous doses of sunlight courtesy of the Oita Prefectural General Stadium, where Kiryuu drops in for a visit, anxious to see how Mujinazaka is performing in his absence. Usuri is a capable captain of a very different breed, but though his teammates like to complain about his occasional bouts of sadism and exacting standards, this is their trial by fire. Teams fall in and out of favour every year, but they’re determined it will not be them.

Maybe it takes place in Kanagawa, the prefecture Tsubakihara and Ubugawa both call home. Under the circular ring of lights that shine with the ferocity of multiple suns in the world-famous Yokohama Arena, Maruyama’s cheers echo loudly through his cheer-horns, and beside him, Echigo and Teradomari, Tsubakihara alumnus, cringe as people’s heads swivel to face them. It’s enough, though; from the bench Himekawa’s head turns as he gives his old senpai an enthusiastic tilt of the head. He has a more confident head on his shoulders now, and when he steps onto the court in a jersey with more yellow than blue, he grins without a trace of fear.

On the other side of the stands, Gora, the old _Fish-lips_ captain, needles _Broccoli-head_ yet again as they watch how his old team fares against a team with an almost identical playstyle to them. He purses his lips as Hoshiumi scores the winning point off one of the new first-years on court, his head drooping. A loss is a loss is a loss.

Meanwhile, Date Tech overpower their teams carefully, meticulously, with the same blocks that had gotten them this far. For the second tournament in a row, the perennial champions of Miyagi have failed to make attendance. In their place is another dark horse, and opponents observe this particular team warily, that have managed to best _both_ Shiratorizawa and Karasuno, a team that had sprung up out of nowhere to make the Top Eight last spring.

In the end though, even their wall crumbles before the might of some shadowed beast.

What is loss, though but something you let bury you, or something you bury your hands in, hoping something new will sprout? This is life, and life is growing. With rough, hardened hands, they’ll rebuild their wall, brick by brick, again.

So summer comes and goes without Karasuno making an appearance. Maybe Hoshiumi grumbles; maybe Sakusa scrunches his eyebrows in disapproval; maybe Atsumu clicks his tongue in disappointment. He is the new captain of Inarizaki now. He had wanted this, of course, but he had not truly expected it without a fight – he had expected Ginjima, or someone he knew the coach liked a bit more to take the mantle. Kita, though, had vouched for him. Atsumu was wearing _Kita’s_ jersey now. On days when it feels too much, why won’t his team just listen to him, can’t they see he just wants the best for them – _it’s cus yer personality’s shit, ‘Sumu_ — _no one asked ya, ‘Samu_ – he squares his shoulders, inhales, thinks of his old captain, and resolves to do even better.

All the same, Osamu’s news is a low, hard blow. He’d thought they’d be playing together forever. Osamu is part of him, and that’s something that will never change. How can he want to leave this life behind that Atsumu loves so much?

Hoshiumi’s been deep in thought since he met Hinata. He’d thought he would have to struggle in his place, all alone. There was only room for one little giant at the top. But Hinata had gone ahead and told him, _no_. He didn’t have to. All that Hinata had accomplished, he’d done because he’d believed in himself, trusted his team, to push him through. He was a monster that pulled his team along behind him – but isn’t Hoshiumi the same? Hoshiumi finds himself at a loss in the face of that, anyway. From the time he was little, observing in dismay as his stupid Nii-san did in one practice what had taken Hoshiumi months to do – carve out a place for himself on his team – he’d known. His place was never truly assured. The higher you go, the better people get. And now, Hinata has surely acquired another new skill in his arsenal. What will it take for him to show up? Hoshiumi wants to measure himself up against that boy again.

Sakusa is chafing. It isn’t really supposed to annoy him, he thinks, and yet it does. He’d wanted to meet Wakatoshi-kun on court one more time before the other boy graduated. He didn’t get a chance to, however. He wants Karasuno to hurry up and get on his level already so that he can finish what Wakatoshi-kun could not. He wants to see for himself what Karasuno is made of.

But he never gets his chance.

Summer comes and goes like flowers unfurling past breathless, scorching days, under the strain of unrelenting heat. The training doesn’t get any easier, but the air around the different teams in the training camp are friendlier now, and more at ease. Akaashi chats amicably with Ennoshita and Yamamoto and the other captains in stolen moments of companionship, and they talk about their futures after high school, and whether they’ll still play volleyball in university. Of them all, Yamamoto is the only one to enthusiastically say of course he will. Ennoshita just smiles, revealing nothing, and Akaashi ducks his head. He has no answer to that yet.

(Sometimes Akaashi seeks out Kenma when he needs silence, or just a spot of cooling shade. Wherever Kenma is, there will usually be both. They’ve never needed words to understand each other anyway.)

That first night, in the cozy quarters of Metropolitan Nekoma High, Tsukishima strolls at an even pace on his way from Gym One where the rest of Karasuno are still practicing. There’d been a strange air about the third-years earlier that day when Ukai had, perhaps for the first time in ages, put all five of them on court together. Tsukishima had felt it: that almost pang of desperation. Now he pauses by the door of the neighbouring gym, momentarily frozen in place when he hears movement inside wafting through.

This isn’t Saitama, and this isn’t Shinzen, but Tsukishima takes a peek inside anyway and of course, Hinata and Lev are already there, chatting a mile a minute. To his surprise, Akaashi is there too, acknowledging him with a nod, fresh Fukurodani blood behind him bobbing their heads at Tsukishima in greeting. Yamamoto, Nekoma’s captain, practically materialises out of nowhere, slapping Tsukishima’s shoulder heartily and grinning, asks what took him so long.

_Huh._

This isn’t Saitama. This isn’t Shinzen, and it isn’t Kuroo and Bokuto’s smirking faces daring him in. Tsukishima wipes his glasses with the edge of his sleeve, and after a moment, pads in, tactfully ignoring Hinata’s excited babbling.

Maybe this will be a tradition here, too, the way Akaashi’s new spikers find themselves challenged by a combined block from Tsukishima and Lev (because of course Hinata will be the contrary one who wants to spike against them) and Teshiro, Nekoma’s secondary setter, answers by sending a quick set Yamamoto’s way, who spikes the ball hard enough to make red bloom on Tsukishima’s palms.

This is the strength of the captain at work. The Fukurodani first-years stare at Yamamoto with the same eyes Hinata used to make at Bokuto in Saitama, and Tsukishima stifles a sigh before going to correct the Nekoma baby middle blocker’s finger positioning. “You’ll want to jump straight up,” he adds, and in his head, Kuroo’s voice is the one saying the words.

Just then, Lev peeks over his shoulder and frowns. “If you ditched Yaku- I mean, Shibayama, to come here to practice, you’d better be paying attention!”

“Y-yes, Lev-san!”

Lev nods in satisfaction, and Tsukishima remembers, that’s _right_. He and Hinata aren’t the only ones who’ve honed their skills over the summer, and for as much as the baby Nekoma blocker respects them, he’ll always have eyes for his own senpai first.

Hinata just grins though, taking the challenge for what it is even as Tsukishima can’t quite believe what is happening. “Okay, want to try blocking me next then?”

Lev and his kouhai cheer while inwardly Tsukishima groans. Lev and Hinata as a duo of mentors are much, _much_ worse than Kuroo and Bokuto had been. Perhaps he should just leave. He could walk away right now.

He doesn’t though, instead commenting on Hinata’s still-improving blocking form, to Hinata’s chagrin. He chooses not to think on why, and they practice until Hinata unexpectedly reminds them about dinner, rounding them all up to join the rest of Karasuno who are already in the cafeteria, where Hinata regales the team with stories about how good of a senpai he and Tsukishima are to the younger blockers.

Beside him, Yamaguchi just eats his own dinner in silence. He’s taken on bigger servings recently, and Tsukishima counts in the back of his mind about three bowls of rice. What surprises him is that he, too, has taken the same.

He’s no longer running at the back of the group when they go for their penalty runs anymore across the Nekoma soccer field. He’s keeping up.

 _Karasuno_ are keeping up. On the first day alone, they’ve won two out of their five practice matches.

The day after Tsukishima joins the second gym squad’s practice, Ukai keeps Kinoshita, Ennoshita, Narita, along with Yamaguchi and their first-year setter Tokita hard at practice, doing their own versions of synchronised attacks, back row attacks, and other combinations. Throughout the camp he keeps Karasuno’s roster changing, putting new players to practice. It’s rough, but it works. And over the coming days, Karasuno prove their wins are no fluke, as they emerge tied for second place with Nekoma in wins against everyone else in the camp.

It seems impossible until it doesn’t. There comes a day when Hinata looks back and doesn’t expect Daichi on his knees, making yet another dig for a rough ball, and Tanaka doesn’t look over his shoulder, hearing the ghost of Asahi making a call as he approaches. There comes a day when it clicks, when Ennoshita leads the team in their pre-game cheer, and the _Karasuno Fight!!!_ that echoes off their tongues don’t sound a little hollow, don’t scramble to fill in empty spaces.

There are new spaces now, new faces that stare back at them from their circle, and their cries are just as firm as anyone else’s.

When Tanaka roars, the world stops and holds its breath. This is Karasuno’s ace, making his move. When Tsukishima pulls the team together, intent on executing this next series of moves, Kageyama steps in, his words adding weight to Tsukishima’s own. They had lost their novelty a while back, around the time when everyone stopped admiring Hinata’s newly honed instincts for blocking.

When Yamaguchi steps in, his eyes no longer alight on exit signs. Or, they do, but not always. Here’s a secret: he’ll live with stepping onto the court with trepidation for every day of the rest of his time in high school, but over time, that fear matters less and less. He’s scared, and he counts his steps. Lets warm air fill his lungs, doing a count to eight in the back of his head as he throws the ball in the air, chancing a little bit of spin, because he’s forged new weapons too.

When Nishinoya aligns himself in the spaces the blocks have left, receiving a jump floater perfectly with ten fingers, he and Tsukishima nod their heads at each other in acknowledgement. They are the first and last line of defense for Karasuno now, and with this coordination, Noya can better figure out where he needs to be at a moment’s notice. When he jumps up to set now, it’s to the approach of a synchronised attack and even that too, is just the norm for Karasuno.

When Hinata steps on court, he no longer has the number ten strapped to his back. It’s no longer the title of the Little Giant he seeks, but there are still people who inspire him and although he’s number eight now, in his very last year he’ll take the number five for himself, remembering the figure of a second-year ace who had also fought for new ways to fly.

When the whistle blows for a substitution, perhaps it is Tokita, their first-year setter, who steps on court, playing side by side _with_ Kageyama rather than relieving him. Perhaps it is Narita, subbing in for Tsukishima or Hinata. Or perhaps it is Ennoshita, relieving the spot of the now first-year starter Shoji.

If Karasuno are to win as a team, then they’ll have to win together. Players from the bench are prepared to go out anytime now and not because of injuries or failed stamina. Ukai puts them in because he sees a chance for a strategic switch, an unknown element put into play. This isn’t because he looks down on the opponents; it’s because the bench players have worked hard to make their own mark, and he wants to acknowledge that. If you get real good, you can play – and haven’t they practiced enough? Haven’t they wanted it enough?

Players like Daichi didn’t get to where he was by sheer luck, or natural talent. They worked hard, and so can the remaining players on the bench. Especially for Kinoshita, Narita and Ennoshita, they are third-years now; if they don’t make the most of what opportunities they have left, when will they?

No one is too small to be part of a team, and even now they impact Karasuno in different ways that can nevertheless be felt. Just because the things you do may be out of sight doesn’t mean they go unnoticed. Who keeps the notice board in their clubroom tidy and neat? Who helps Yachi account for all the equipment, making sure everything’s been accounted for? Who periodically tidies up the clubroom so the dust doesn’t accumulate? Sugawara may have used to do it when he was around. Ennoshita and Narita and Kinoshita do it now, and they may be small things but they matter.

This, too, is Karasuno. And this is their year now. They’re going to take everything they’ve been given, with palms up and open.

In the fall, Karasuno is given one more chance. They fight, but against who? Maybe against Kesenike West, a team that had gone toe to toe with Shiratorizawa in the semi-finals for the Spring High Qualifiers last year, scoring in twenties across the board against them. Or maybe against Hakusuikan, the libero Kuroiishi who Hinata learned the split-step hails from, a quiet team that nevertheless made Top Eight showings in Miyagi for the past two seasons. Maybe the Niiyama Boys’, who chase closely after their female counterparts. Does knowing it change the outcome? Perhaps.

Maybe it’s Johzenji, who get to go out as they were introduced, with a lot of fun, antics and unpredictability – the spiker tossing to the setter, the setter tossing from his foot, executing a synchronised attack and doing it well. Their old manager Hana cheers from the stands while Runa, their younger manager beams proudly on the bench, their new banner gleaming a warm yellow, the words spelling out _Create A Playground_ in black. Maybe it’s Ohgiminami, riding on the wave of much-needed catharsis from having faced Shiratorizawa across the battle lines once again the other day, and doing much better than they had against them the year before, when Ushijima had crushed them on a 25-6 score. Maybe it’s Kakugawa, Hyakuzawa smiling in acknowledgement at Hinata who’d taught him not to undervalue his own strengths, and wanting to give his all to beating him.

Whomever they may be, Karasuno beat their opponents handily, making the finals again. Aoba Johsai lose in the semi-finals though, and Shiratorizawa just before that. Neither of them get the rematch with Karasuno that they’d desired.

(The day after, Yahaba, Kyoutani, Watari and the rest of the Seijoh third-years take a trip to the pool, where they challenge one another to lap after lap, Watari showing off his beautiful form even as Kyoutani scoffs and wins all the races but one. Yahaba sticks his tongue out at him as he grimaces, to peals of laughter in response. The heat wave in Japan has only just started to let up, and only an hour’s train ride away, there are sakura blossoms in bloom. There is heat creeping up Kyoutani’s neck now, but he refuses to be cowed as he says gruffly, “You guys had enough yet?”

“Why, did you have something in mind?”

Watari tilts his head curiously, and Kyoutani grunts out an answer before Yahaba can open his big mouth: “Cherry blossoms.”

“W-what?”

On the same day, Shirabu takes the train down to Reon’s university and offers to buy him coffee. They sit, and talk about everything and nothing, catching up, or rather Semi – who Reon had invited, to Shirabu’s dismay – talks, but Shirabu quips right back, and it somehow works. The urge to throttle someone, or even quite possibly push someone off of the edge of a cliff dissipates, and Shirabu eventually admits he hasn’t ever regretted his choice to quit.

Reon hums in approval. “That’s good then,” he says.)

Somewhere in a gymnasium at the heart of Miyagi, Karasuno face off against Date Tech once more, and this time, they prevail. Futakuchi grits his teeth as he shakes hands with Ennoshita for the last time, muttering out a _Good luck at Nationals_ regardless as he does, and it makes Ennoshita blink. The half-smirk on Futakuchi’s face turns more genuine then, and he says, “Do us a favour, and kick those city boys’ asses, Karasuno.”

Aone bows his head to Hinata’s for the last time. “You’d better win it all, Hinata,” he murmurs, and it is a challenge, praise, and farewell all in one. He’d already had his taste of what summer felt like, and it had been an inferno. The gods were not gracious enough to give him another taste, but it was alright. Aone would be content with this.

Hinata bows his head in return. Karasuno have secured a seat at Spring Nationals again. Tensions dance over hunched shoulders, knowing they’re coming in bearing expectations, not just Date Tech’s own. Inarizaki and Itachiyama are predicted to be battling for the Spring High title this year, even more so than the last. Even knowing that, Karasuno have resolved to go after the National title this time. It is a thought that thrums in each practice, in beads of sweat that they wipe away on soaked sleeves, in the shape of their breaths misting in cold winter air.

Mornings are spent jogging around campus, Ennoshita shouting cheers up in front while everyone keeps the pace, Tanaka bringing up the rear. Afternoons and evenings they devote to volleyball drills or practice games, familiarising themselves with the feel of playing with each other, all together.

Then in December, while Kageyama makes off for his second year at the All-Japan Youth Intensive, rejoining Sakusa, Komori and the others, Hinata stays with the rest of the team for practice, feeling bereft.

(Nishinoya had also received an invitation, but declined. He already knows what he wants for himself after high school. Like most things with Nishinoya, the idea had burst abruptly, spontaneously in his mind, but once it’s been lodged in deep, he plans to follow through with the fullest dedication. He is just stubborn that way, to Tanaka’s disappointment.

Tanaka isn’t the only one either, though of them all Kinoshita is the one who says the thought aloud, how it might be a waste of Nishinoya’s talent.

Nishinoya’s answer doesn’t surprise them. _I suppose I could accept the Warriors or the EJP, but I’ve just, all my life until now has been volleyball. I want to know what I could be without it, you know? I just want to try._

It’s easy for him to say, Kinoshita and the others suppose. Still, of the third-years, Narita’s the only one who might not continue volleyball in college – all of them are considering joining the Neighbourhood Association eventually, considering giving back to the school that had given them so many good memories of their own. None of them are willing to give up volleyball just yet.)

Maybe it makes Hinata ponder over his own path going forward. With his mind already working to fill in the gaps Kageyama would be creating in his second round at that feast of champions, that’s when Hinata alights on a new possibility. This is where the seeds of him going to Brazil had sprung; while Tsukishima looks at him in dismayed askance, Ukai has already gotten on it, calling in Washijo for a second opinion with little more than a few words from Hinata’s lips.

There are few concessions he wouldn’t make for these kids. They’re as much his own as they’d been when he’d decided to sign on as their coach for good, and he wants to take them to the top as much as they want to bring him and Takeda there. If they play their cards right and the stars align, perhaps they might.

The nature of the Nationals is that nothing is set in stone. An injury can put an end to your run for good, or you can run low on energy and lose momentum. You can get caught up in the moment and regret. You can play the best game of your life against people you’d consider your friends off the court, and still feel the sting of bittersweet loss.

When Karasuno march past the doors of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium for the second time, Ennoshita leading the charge, carrying the vigil of their school name on a canvas of black, none of them can quite contain their nerves. For five of Karasuno’s members, this will be their last tournament. It’s an anticipation that anchors them shoulder to shoulder, unsaid. _I won’t lose._

_I won’t lose, not to you, not to the second- or first-years. I will steal all the stars from this blue-and-white sky, and make it mine._

The legacy that the third-years had passed onto them, about a year ago now, lights like wind on dying embers, sparking anew. Just as their senpai had done for them, Sugawara, Daichi, Asahi and Shimizu watch Karasuno’s first match from the front of the aisles, knuckles gripping on metal railings, genuine smiles painting their faces when Karasuno advances to the second round with ease.

This was the team they had helped rebuild back up from the ashes, rising strong, waving a banner of black. It’s a colour that will stay steady, and will not waver; the perfect colour to represent Karasuno and their desire to fly. The things they had left behind, the things that were once left to them live on in the hands and the hearts of the current generation, and there is no better proof than that of the team in front of them, cheerfully waving back.

Maybe since they’d left, Yachi had tried to arrange for a more organised cheering section for Karasuno. Saeko-neesan and her Taiko drums were amazing, but what if one day they couldn’t make it? There might be heavy traffic, or a car crash, or even a flock of penguins accidentally let loose from the zoo. You never know. Yachi has always been one to prepare for the worst possible outcome, so she decides there should be more support from the school proper. All year round, she pins up notices and posters, and hands out flyers, advertising Karasuno volleyball’s new cheer squad and fretting over funds.

Money is always something they’ll have to worry for in ways that private schools like Aoba Johsai and Shiratorizawa do not. It’s a slow process, people trickling in by the dozens, but by the end of their third year, they finally get a decent squad. Not just that, a huge one with cheerleaders and pompoms and cheer-horns, paint-marked faces screaming their hearts out as Karasuno cinches the title of third in the entire nation against all the odds stacked against them, against countless hundreds of teams. Stand strong, Karasuno, stand proud, wave that flag like a beacon. Karasuno is flying. Karasuno has _flown_.

That’s for a future yet to come. After Daichi and the others depart with a few words of encouragement, a box of chocolates and bottles of Potari Sweat, Ennoshita claps his hands, beckoning the team together. “Well, you heard Daichi-san. Let’s not let them down.”

But we know how the rest of this story goes. Karasuno make it through another day before being matched up with Inarizaki again. They don’t face Nekoma, who are making a name for themselves on the other end of the bracket. Kenma waits, but in vain. They don’t face Kamomedai either, and finally ascertain an answer to the battle of philosophies they’d waged the year previous. Hoshiumi waits, but it is not to be.

By this time, Atsumu and Osamu have refined their setter-spiker system, Ginjima has stepped up to the plate as Inarizaki’s new ace, Suna has become even more devious. They’re not taken off guard by Karasuno again despite the new tricks they have up their sleeve. This is the twins’ match to win as they play the best (and last) tournament together of their lives. Kageyama observes in frustration as Inarizaki’s captain scores another serve off him, gears turning in his mind as he witnesses the ways a mirror of his middle school self had matured, now beckoning his team forward. One thing leads to another, and it comes in a sequence – maybe off of Tanaka’s last line shot, bouncing just barely out of bounds. Maybe off of Hinata’s or Tsukishima’s jump floaters, landing just a hair’s shy too far. Maybe off of Osamu’s eight-second serve, his last triumphant hurrah.

Or just maybe, when Osamu’s serve prompts a long rally where Kageyama is forced to take first touch, and Tsukishima sets with ease toward their first-year Shoji, only for Inarizaki’s new libero to get the ball back in the air, Karasuno’s end comes. Inches away from Nishinoya’s grasping fingers, the ball bounces out of reach from the twins’ now perfected minus tempo spike – Atsumu’s parting gift hailing to yesteryear, when the very same spike had been shut down by the freak duo, Hinata and Kageyama. He had never had a reputation for being forgiving after all, and this is his form of penance, the memories that have shackled him finally setting him free. Riding on their momentum, this year, Inarizaki finally takes the crown.

As Tsubakihara’s coach once said, those who get swallowed up by their enemies, by the courts, disappear. Everyone is hungry for something to prove, something that shows a measure of their worth.

Karasuno’s second year somehow ends without them still having made it to the orange court. Once again, they’ve been denied. Once again, the only team they’ve lost to at the Spring Nationals go on to take the title for themselves.

As with the year before, they stay and watch the rest of the matches. Niiyama’s continuing dominance on the girls’ side of the brackets, led by third-year captain Kanoka, keeps the smile planted firmly on Tanaka’s face; Hinata perks his head when he finally sees Hoshiumi step onto the court, the ace’s number four on his jersey, just as he’d expected. Nekoma fall to Kamomedai next; here are Kenma’s soldiers, his pawns and chess pieces, but in the end they are not enough. Akaashi, whose Fukurodani had lost to Inarizaki in the second round, claps respectfully beside Hinata, who cheers for Kenma anyway. Kamomedai are taken out next by Itachiyama, though it is a close call, only finished by Sakusa’s serve – the finale to this battle of two Top Three Aces. This year, Itachiyama have been challengers, no longer kings. It is a humbler place they have toiled upward from, but no one has wanted the win as much as they did.

They meet Inarizaki in the finals for the first time since the previous year’s Interhigh. Atsumu performs a serve that Sakusa manages to catch, but it throws Itachiyama slightly off-rhythm, and in the late game, that’s all the chance Inarizaki needs. Osamu ends his last year ever playing volleyball with his twin looking at the view from the summit, his teammates around him in a huddle, not a single dry eye in sight. Aran, Oomimi, Kita and Akagi clap from the stands while Osamu meets Atsumu’s gaze, across Ginjima’s and Riseki’s shoulders. This is how his twin has chosen to say his goodbye – a sap to the last.

This is a story about triumph, too. There is triumph in winning, a reminder that all the things you’ve worked for can come to a satisfying conclusion. There is triumph in owning your own pride, knowing you’re on a strong team, and knowing you’re part of the reason why.

This is a story about triumph, but it is also a story about loss. This is how Karasuno spends the rest of their Spring Nationals’ run, looking wistfully off to the side, their heads not quite hanging, their spirits not quite broken. Not yet.

After the Interhigh, Ukai had approached the gang. Told them the same thing he’d told Tanaka’s batch the year before; that there wasn’t a lot of time left, so they had better decide who the leadership should pass on to.

Despite the ways Kageyama has slowly softened himself, opening himself up like a flower in season to teach and to learn; despite Tsukishima’s eye for detail, and mind for strategy, the way his heart reaches out with grabby fingers for a passion he’d once left to dwindle; despite Hinata’s cheerful warmth, the way the first-years come up to him for tips, mesmerised by the ever-present hunger in his gaze; _despite_ it all, there’s even less room for argument this time. Everyone agrees that out of all of them, _Yamaguchi’s_ the one who’s fittest for the role. He is a bit more removed from the squabbles between Hinata and Kageyama, or Kageyama and Tsukishima, or Hinata and Tsukishima, or the gods forbid, all three. And having been on the bench, he can relate uniquely to the upcoming batch of first-years how it feels – waiting for his turn on the court, feeling overwhelmed in ways the monsters that are his yearmates don’t experience.

Perhaps Ennoshita had already guessed. Out of all his yearmates, he’s spent the most time with _Yamaguchi_ ; without Yamaguchi realising, Ennoshita had already begun to mentor him on the side. Yamaguchi can become Karasuno’s new foundation, he knows. For all the places he thinks he’s fallen short, Ennoshita is excellent at pointing out where his kouhai need improvement, where they excel, and he believes in Yamaguchi.

Without Yamaguchi realising, his words already hold weight. That’s the important part, and the other third-years see it too. When it’s time for Ennoshita to pass the clubroom keys over, Yamaguchi’s really the only one surprised.

That isn’t all. As yet another year draws to a close, with Takeda and Ukai’s help, Yachi leads the first-years and the rest of her yearmates in putting together a few farewell gifts for their senpai, who had performed magnificently to the end.

For Kinoshita and Narita, who stayed. There’s more than one way to make your mark. Diligently, persistently, they’d made their presence tangible, whether it’d been Kinoshita getting a jump floater rivalling in speed to Miya Atsumu’s, or Narita being subbed in for a whole game and holding his ground, but also in kind words spoken, a hand of encouragement, passing clean towels onto tired shoulders and striking poses for support. Sometimes being there, _just_ being there is enough, and they were. They were.

For Tanaka, who’d believed in Daichi’s impossible dreams way back when they‘d still seemed laughable, and tried his best to make them a reality too. He’d since broken himself, over and over if it meant his team could stay, could keep playing. He’d have made a hell of a vice-captain, making his words, his actions matter on court when Ennoshita couldn’t, deferring to his teammates’ judgement and trusting his teammates to follow him in return.

He’d have made a hell of an ace – a continual push-and-pull between him and Kageyama as he strove to prove himself worthy of the title, even as Kageyama knew he had nothing left to prove. ( _I know you can jump higher,_ Kageyama had told him once after the qualifiers when Date Tech had ground their hope to dust, a dangerous grin in place. _There’s no time for self-pity. Please prove me right, Tanaka-san._ And though Tanaka cursed Kageyama in his mind, wouldn’t you know, he actually does?) Tanaka trusted Kageyama unconditionally, and Kageyama trusted him right back, but it went beyond that. Kageyama had unashamedly called for Tanaka’s 120%. Even if it seemed hard, even if it seemed terrifying, he’d called for it – and Tanaka always, always rose to the challenge.

For Nishinoya, who had faced off against several of the most terrifying spikers in the high school world and time and again held the fort, willing his feet to run just a second faster, putting on some bulk to stand up to tougher digs while managing not to sacrifice his speed. Aided by a kouhai whom he challenged himself against, he’d improved in the way steel strengthening steel only can. I hope he became intimidating. I hope he became a libero that was well-known. I hope he became well-loved, a libero aspiring liberos studied and admired, an inspiration.

He’d learned what fear was. To spend time hiding due to your fear was a waste. He had so much of the world he wanted to see, so much he wanted to explore, and this was just one chapter of his life. He was going out there to live his very best life.

And for Ennoshita, who became a captain despite his insecurities, despite at times wanting to run. Even without him acknowledging it, he’d already been looking to the future – at some point, he’d have learnt to not only run alongside his team, but ahead of them. Planting good ground. I hope he looked at the worries he used to have and smiled. I hope he looked at the doubts he used to harbour deep inside and laughed, because volleyball is a team sport, and you never have to win alone.

Maybe Narita comes from a big family; as the oldest, he’d had to deprive himself of many things. The first-year Shoji, who he’d taken aside once and comforted when the boy felt homesick, had one day pulled Tsukishima and Yamaguchi aside, asking them for a favour. Narita opens a neatly wrapped gift bag now to find a shoebox containing relatively new, polished Nike Pegasus running shoes, for his morning runs.

Yamaguchi had once talked with Kinoshita about what he’d wanted to do after high school and he had shyly admitted that, with Ukai and Takeda’s input, he thought he might want to get into the transportation industry. He liked the feeling of being in different places at once, and so as a farewell gift, Kinoshita gets a teacup set resembling a miniature train that Tokita, their first-year setter, had managed to find in an antique shop for sale.

Tanaka, meanwhile, gets a white knitted cap, courtesy of Hinata, Kageyama and Yachi tag-teaming, and years’ worth of classes in home economics. They’d assumed he might need something to keep his bald head warm; when Tanaka turns the cap this way and that, he discovers knitted on the back in slightly untidy kanji, are the words _Best Ace_.

Nishinoya, next, is presented with a set of postcards from the first-year libero Yaotome for him to write home with, ten in number for the ten countries he said he’d wanted to step foot in first. That isn’t all, as Hinata had also added three pairs of socks, Yamaguchi a mini travel kit, Kageyama a pair of volleyball keychains, and Tsukishima a luggage tag to the package – just in case of an emergency. For this team’s guardian deity, the team would afford nothing less.

And for Ennoshita, the whole team had come together with Takeda’s help to buy a new memory card for his camera. For this good captain who’d led his team through to another good showing at Nationals, Ukai gives him the card, with a little surprise inside.

As the third-years gather around to watch the single video that’s taken up the memory roll, the footage plays to reveal a set of speeches given by the first-years one by one, and then Hinata, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi and Kageyama, followed by Yachi and lastly, Takeda and Ukai. Each junior has a message for each senpai, from the libero kouhai Yaotome’s cheerful _See you later, Noya-san!_ to Shoji’s bow from the waist to Narita, to Yamaguchi’s gentle reminiscing of the times he spent training with Kinoshita, Narita and Ennoshita. As the video continues to play Kageyama’s heartfelt appreciation speech for Tanaka, and then Takeda’s gentle reminder for all of them to take care of themselves, and then everyone’s bowed _Thank you, captain, vice-captain! We couldn’t have done all this without you!,_ the third-years find themselves blinking a little too suspiciously, one or two letting out watery-sounding laughs.

And then Ukai’s face fills the screen, the coach scratching his neck sheepishly as he stares into the camera lens. _Sensei, are you sure you don’t want to do this instead? I’m not as good at this as you are._

Muffled noises come from the background, and he bobs his head. _Better coming from me, huh? Well, if you say so._

He scratches his head before taking a deep breath, eyes piercing the screen as he does. _Okay, so. This year has honestly exceeded my expectations. I know we’re all prone to looking at the results and thinking we didn’t do as well as we’d hoped, but I really disagree. That we got this far… all this is only possible because all of you agreed to follow me. Thank you for giving me your trust. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you further. Captain, thank you for leading these kids so well. I don’t know that they’d have listened to me half so well without you…_ A self-deprecating laugh, and then, _See, everything you guys have accomplished this year, it couldn’t have been possible without putting in the time and effort that you did. You never took a setback as anything but an obstacle, and something to overcome; because of that, your kouhai could follow you without hesitation. All that boring, thankless work you did? It was all for those days when you could stand on court, and achieve the improbable. If you apply that courage and spirit to anything else in your life, then I’m sure you’ll become something amazing. The world is big out there, kids. But your hearts are bigger, so go out there and make us proud._

When the morning breaks, it’s over another new year. The first-years stand shoulder to shoulder to shoulder. Yaotome, Shoji and Tokita, they had helped carry this team to glory. They stand where Hinata and his yearmates had stood, on the eve of another possible outing to Nationals, on the eve of another loss. On the eve of another opportunity – and that’s what this is about, isn’t it? To take every chance you’ve been given, on and on, until you win. Or the chances are spent.

Later the graduating third-years will wave their farewells amidst falling cherry blossom petals, carried along on the breeze. For Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi and Yachi, it’ll be their year to carry. It’ll be their most exhilarating yet.

At the doors of the gymnasium where it all started for the two of them, Kageyama pockets the gym keys in hand, and observes the sunrise. After a moment, he says softly to Hinata, “I’m glad I came here. To Karasuno, I mean.”

Hinata smiles. “Me too.”

The doors close with a soft click.

Here’s a scattered montage: Yamamoto being pulled into a bear-hug by Lev while Shibayama and Teshiro and Inuoka tearfully wave to a departing Fukunaga and Kenma; Akaashi, having collected all his team’s volleyball journals as he has been doing for the better part of his last year, writing in his comments for the last time, with a sincere wish for each junior; Hirugami and Hoshiumi standing pensively at that old stairwell near their junior high, watching the sunset together; Atsumu chasing Osamu out of the gate, screaming about one inane thing or another while Suna unlocks his phone to find a dozen unglam photographs of him having been assembled into a collage, and made into his phone background; Futakuchi getting a ride on Koganegawa’s shoulders, taller than the rest of the crowd, taller than all of fucking _Karasuno_ ; Yahaba, Kyoutani and Watari being gifted with about a hundred paper cranes from the rest of their volleyball team; Kawanishi tossing a volleyball charm high in the air just outside the metal gates, and catching it in his fingers with a grin while Shirabu rolls his eyes, his own charm already attached to the zipper of his backpack.

Here’s another: Kindaichi shaking hands with Yamaguchi, wishing each other a good game; Inuoka eager to show off his new jump serve against Karasuno, the number four jersey well-worn, a deep burgundy red on his back; Kuguri leading his team onto court for their first match of the year, fist held high while Akane sits in the stands, clipboard in one hand, small camera in another, the red cap of Nekoma's volleyball club on her head; Koganegawa watching Kageyama eagerly across the net, a good four or five centimetres added to his frame, fingers untaped; Goshiki having perfected a serving routine of his own as he begins the finals match against Karasuno, tasting victory on the tip of his tongue.

If you win, you get to play more games. You get to stay on court the longest. This is a truth everyone knows. But winning isn’t everything. People lose, and people get injured, and people change, and that’s just life. So how’s this for growth?

Dear Karasuno, I wish you no more dark days. I wish many fervent, ambitious dreams of summer and spring, and a season that will only come to an end after a million frenzied screams, the pumping of blood through veins, the skidding of shoes across the floor and a ceiling that seems to reach up to the sky. I wish you members whose hearts beat black like a colour unchanging, steady hands, and favourable winds.

You know already, what is in those hands.

You know already, what is the title you strive for.

For the rest of these few summers of ripened possibilities, for every day you are downtrodden and down in the dirt, running under unforgiving sun, I hope you will cry out with grief, with joy, with hope. These are the pillars of what make Karasuno a team that seeks to conquer the very skies.

Live, Karasuno, and fly high.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> -[Why Fukurodani should've lost to Kamomedai](https://twitter.com/timshel_11/status/1247988105329676292?s=21).
> 
> -We get a glimpse of the probable new first years in [ch 379](https://preview.redd.it/64dwpu78rwa51.jpg?width=1168&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4039e76836819196f31dcc6eceb8b594ed8929c9). Given that they know Narita and Kinoshita, I'd assume they were still around when these new volleyball club alumnus joined.
> 
> -Nicini and I spent many hours just kind of theorising back and forth about what the new first years might've been like. Credit for the ichinen setter with a volleyball-loving younger sister goes to her.
> 
> -The idea of the ITAs + Yamaguchi + Tsukki going to Ukai Senior for training was something I read once on reddit. I cannot for the life of me find that comment again, but credit for that idea goes to that lovely redditor.
> 
> -The different gyms mentioned for the Interhigh, if you're interested: [Oita Prefectural General Stadium](https://pregamestraining.tokyo2020.jp/en/module/camp/facilities/4c50a847a887b42c0c5fe756619b3280) and [Yokohama Arena](https://www.alamy.com/kanagawa-japan-30th-sep-2018-general-view-volleyball-five-volleyball-womens-world-championship-japan-2018-first-round-pool-a-match-between-japan-2-3-netherlands-at-yokohama-arena-in-kanagawa-japan-credit-naoki-moritaaflo-sportalamy-live-news-image220900773.html), which has hosted international professional volleyball matches before.
> 
> -Yamaguchi becomes a dual-wielder in his third-year, this is just a fact.
> 
> -The All-Japan Youth Training Camp Kageyama attends, from what we know, is preparing for the next U-19 Tournament. That’s why Ushijima’s year had been too old to attend the camp with Kageyama. Atsumu’s year, however, is still eligible, which is why even in Kageyama’s second year, he’s still able to meet them. Read more about it [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/haikyuu/comments/6dfxh3/on_the_subject_of_the_youth_intensive_training).
> 
> -Interestingly, there were [actual sakura blossoms](https://japantoday.com/category/national/cherry-blossoms-come-six-months-early-in-miyagi) in October in 2013, speculated to have come about due to the extreme weather. One of the places where the cherry blossoms bloomed was in Miyagi, which I found really neat.
> 
> -Yes, Hinata learns a jump floater. This is a boy who seemed like he would experience a period of explosive growth after Spring Nationals, do you honestly think he would’ve been satisfied with a normal serve for the rest of high school? That’s my take on that.
> 
> -I almost wrote Fukurodani not making it to Spring Nationals at all and some unknown team taking their place. Ultimately, I decided to spare Akaashi the suffering haha.
> 
> -Soo. I had wanted to rewrite this for some time, but the idea of actually penning my thoughts for the whole year down was absolutely terrifying. All my inspiration really came from binging Daiya No Ace for 2 weeks straight, and getting really good brain fodder for Year 2 of Haikyuu. ~~Also while writing this, it genuinely hurt my heart all over again to write that Karasuno never won Nationals.~~
> 
> -I like to think of an alternate timeline where Itachiyama don’t make it to Spring Nationals - injuries have never been that big a deal in Haikyuu, but let’s say their captain has to deal with one - a string of bad luck for the perennial kings, so they say, a captain’s curse, which makes it all the more impressive when Itachiyama finally reclaim their title in Hinata’s last year in spring. In that case, Inarizaki still win the Spring title, but Atsumu doesn’t get to meet Sakusa on a volleyball court again, not for many years until Sakusa signs up with the Jackals.
> 
> -If anyone is interested, I actually did come up with brackets for this Year 2 haha. Only for Miyagi though.
> 
> The much-more light-hearted, kinda half-assed Interhigh Qualifs [here](https://imgur.com/h4WubQ8). There are a lot of gaps, as you can see haha.  
> Aaaand an actually serious look at Spring Nationals Prelims [here](https://brackethq.com/b/mf5f).
> 
> EDIT: I have now added more words. I am sorry. I just think that the ITAs deserve more love, and since Furudate isn't saying they didn't get more playtime in Year 2, I'm saying they do. I'm saying Karasuno changes up their playstyle a bit more in a way that gives them more time in court, after they've practiced and put in the work. So there.
> 
> If you've made it through this far, thank you so much. Hope you enjoyed what was essentially me rambling for 16k words, and if there was a particular headcanon you agreed or disagreed with, spare a kudos, and feel free to leave a comment down below! I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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